


Similar Souls

by heartfeltdisease



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dave and Roxy have no idea, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Gore, Murder, Murder Fetishism, Very slight dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-11
Updated: 2012-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-20 21:13:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartfeltdisease/pseuds/heartfeltdisease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose Lalonde moves away, discovers herself, and writes a letter. Among other things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Similar Souls

**Author's Note:**

> this is really self indulgent and i'd like to write more  
> (please mind the warnings. this is pretty much sweet dysfunction and hella violence)

A mother does what is best for her children. What's best for Rose may not be her, and she's starting to realize that. She's been increasingly recalcitrant lately - no longer merely bitter about the affection she receives and dishes out, she uses it like venom.

(rose thinks _look at me, look at me, be honest with me, do you love me, i'm angry will you hug me or something, stop me, no you won't will you just more platitudes,_ she couldn't read a face to save her life but mom doesn't know that. how could she know that. rose has analyzed every line she's ever said and found only hatred and she's so good at lines not so much with visuals and--)

Mom has come to the idea that Rose would be happier elsewhere, maybe, but she doesn't know how to apply it until she invites her good friend over, the lovely Mr. Strider, to give her parenting advice. He's unreadable and she takes a bit of joy in having someone who doesn't fake a thing.

She's getting tired.

Rose hasn't seen him in years (his career's gotten a little risky and rose thinks this is it she's brought him here because she doesn't care anymore) and takes to him almost instantly. A little more than a mother would like for her sixteen year old to take to a full grown man. She doesn't miss the fluttering of eyelashes - so pale, her eyelashes are lace to her tanned skin - and it makes her a little angry, at first. What teen rebellion is this?

But she thinks, maybe, Rose would do better with him. He may be a touch shady, almost criminal (rose talks to dave regularly she knows what bro does more than her mother ever will) but he's a good father, a good man. Rose could do worse than Dirk Strider.

He almost doesn't believe her, though. He expresses his confusion in eloquent terms.

"What the fuck."

She shrugs. "It's clear to me that Rosie would probably do better elsewhere and you, Strider, owe me a favor, right? I paid off some debts while you were starting off. Even then, I can finance her. I will even pay for schooling, if it pleases you." (if you can get her to go)

Dirk snorts. "So you're gonna throw money and pity cards at me to raise your knitting recluse of a flirty teenage daughter."

 _She's not a recluse_ , her mother thinks. (but she's wrong) "Yes, essentially."

He considers this proposition for a moment. (rose is sneaking at the doorway to look at them bro notices mom doesn't) "Fine." he says finally.

"But I have one question."

"What is it, Strider?" She wants him gone, away with her precious daughter so she doesn't have to think about all the ways she's fucked up. She wants a drink. She wants a million drinks. She's tired.

"Do you have any idea what this lovely young lady is planning to do with her life?"

No answer comes. (rose doesn't know either she's never known the question makes her want to vomit and shell herself out clean she'll take anything to not have to answer that question)

Bro sighs, a heavy sigh full of promise. It doesn't take a PhD to tell he has plans, and Ms. Lalonde has ten. But she is optimistic and trusts her friends. He would never hurt Rose.

"I'll find something for her to do."

(rose knows dave is safe, well cared for, but does her mom? what does she think shes sending her into? _she hates me she's sending me to live with a psycho because she hates me_ )

A mother does what is best for her children. Maybe if she tells herself that enough, it'll feel right to leave Rose Lalonde behind.

( _she doesn't care_ )

She needs a drink.

* * *

The city outside the Strider's windows blooms and bustles like wind-racked flowers. Rose is used to the river, so she explains it in those terms - constantly flowing, even at night. She heard a phrase about NYC but it was just as true in Houston: the city never sleeps.

Bro (as she is informed to call him, not "Mr. Strider" like she's been doing since she was a child, following her mother's lead) has set her aside his room for now, while he sleeps on the futon. She tries to explain to them that she sleeps all day and stays up all night, that they could alternate, but he shakes his head.

"You aren't the only night owl around here, Lalonde."

So she takes an outlet and plugs her laptop in and knits by the light. Dave leaves her offline messages telling her to get up sometime in the light hours to see him and she ignores them. She makes sweaters she never wears and watches obscure internet forums update but never posts. She looks up gore. She looks up porn. She looks up knitting patterns and knits gloves she never wears and life goes on just like it had at her mother's house for a week.

One morning, she wakes up at approximately 9 pm. to a heavy shifting of the sunken mattress. Bro's shades glimmer in the twilight of the room.

"Sleepyhead." It's a fond word but there's no fondness in his voice. There's nothing at all. There's nothing to puzzle over and Rose likes it that way.

"Yes, new guardian figure." She murmurs.

He lets out a short _heh_ like a chuckle. "You gonna look up more torture porn tonight? Or would you prefer to come with me."

That gets her up. Rose sits up. "It's impolite to go through a lady's search history, Mr. Strider."

" _Bro_ ," he corrects. "And I'm sure it's breaching some form of etiquette to use some one else's internet to look up an interesting mix of niche pornography, yarn sites, and shock photos, too. So how about we go somewhere and learn some things."

She narrows her eyes. "What kind of things?"

"If I told you, that'd ruin the surprise."

She's spent years on the internet and the scariest request she's ever gotten is from a family friend. There's a small irony in that, but pointing it out would be playing into his game.

(It's not like she didn't expect this anyway, when her mom sent her away to live with someone she knew stayed out all hours and occasionally, from Dave's reports, would come back with bloody hands. Her heart leaped at the chance to show do her duty as a daughter and get herself fucked up for life.)

"I'll get dressed."

"Wear something warm."

* * *

She wears a sweater she made and by the end of the night she's happy she did. She has so many of them that they're disposable.

He takes her to a coffee shop first, buys her some strange mix the barista seems to know by heart even though it's not on the menu. He drinks the same. It's sickeningly sweet and vaguely coffee-flavored and halfway through she's very sure it's something espresso - she can feel the familiar buzz of life under her eyelids. She likes it.

"Here's the plan." He tells her.

A man walks by the shop and they follow him, chatting quietly like a father-daughter pair. He glances back, but suspects nothing. Their whispers are too quiet for him to hear.

"Do I get to know what's going on yet?"

"No. But I think you'll enjoy it."

Everything's wrong with this and she waits for the twist. It's too straight forward. She knows where it's going and there's no way it's happening. This isn't a bad horror movie, it's her life. Right?

The city gets darker as they walk, more desolate. Maybe this is where the city sleeps, in a quiet street far from home. The two walk faster and until they're closer to the man. Bro makes a quiet signal for her to stay a few steps behind but no more, and to keep quiet for the love of god. He calls out to the man - hey, you dropped this, sir - he stops to turn just where the street meets the alley and opens his mouth and

Bro is as fast as a tiger. He grabs the man by his collar and clamps a hand over his mouth and pulls him into the dark of the alley. Rose follows but doesn't remember doing so consciously, stands a few feet in the alley and watches as her new guardian - as good as a knife as he is with a sword - cleanly slits the man's throat, deep and red dripping everywhere in the grime of the alley and he looks to her and says

"Quieter this way."

like he's just teaching her to prepare a chicken or something. Gorey images online are always grainy but this is HD as he pushes the (dying?) (dead?) (who knows anymore he won't be around for long) man down onto the ground and roughly cuts through his sternum and down to his stomach, god there's so much red and Rose is concerned, why isn't she vomiting, what is wrong with her and why are intestines so long and is that a kidney or a stomach or what and why--

"Come here."

she follows dumbly like she's under a trance and he's covered in blood to his elbows. She can't read body language but something instinctual is telling her it's safe, he's dropped the knife and something about him reads fondness and why isn't she vomiting

he guides her to the wall and she's pressed against it and he's looking at her really looking at her. Shades have fallen. His orange eyes are looking straight into hers and

he kisses her.

It's her second kiss ever and far from chaste, he quickly skips the gentle peck thing and grabs her by the chin and directs her and his tongue is in her mouth it's completely aggressive there's blood on her face he bites her lip and she's shivering and leaning into him and trying to kiss back (why is she liking this) (she knows why she's liking this)

he pulls away briefly, hands sliding under her sweater. He's whispering to her "I knew it," and it doesn't take a PhD to tell he's turned on even if she's never had any experience in that area. He's turned on and fascinated at how she's reacting as much as she is herself. "I knew it," he's whispering. "I didn't want to pin you wrong. But I was right." She's giving her all into the kiss, hands winding around his neck trying to lean up into him, everything is wrong and sticky and red and wet and she _likes_ it.

"You _are_ just like me."

* * *

Rose was just fifteen when she stopped leaving her home.

It had been a long summer night, stretched on like putty in heat. It wasn't terribly warm in her room (at least she knew it wasn't now, after Houston) but she liked to think it was. Her roleplay partner had logged off for the night and Jade wouldn't be up for a couple more hours.

She liked to think of these precious hours as a space beside itself, a private time for her alone. Usually, she used it to look up porn - she was a teenager, after all - but at the time she didn't feel up to that. Her libido had temporarily lulled and she was bored, and a little curious.

It was time to look into the dark side of the internet. It didn't take much to find things no one wanted to see - you didn't even need to summon the audacity to search something. Rose didn't. She loaded up the darkweb browser Dave sent her and went to the main page.

Nothing caught her eye, at first glance. For something so nefarious, it was disgustingly boring in summary. There was child porn. Some other obscure fetish sites. Forums for "revolutionaries." Information on drugs. Strange conspiracy theories. Really, not too much she hadn't expected. There was nothing but the mild thrill of having access to a place like this keeping her from deleting the browser outright.

She was a jaded internet user, she thought. She'd read a lot of fic. She could handle whatever it threw at her. She clicked the random page button and sat back as the server loaded.

(She remembered that night differently sometimes. to relate to friends: _I accidentally viewed some gruesome, gory pictures last night. It was terrible._ to relate to close friends: _I will spare you the details, because I love you and want you to sleep tonight. But I will share with you that I vomited._

to herself, if she was being honest: _I didn't vomit. I wanted to but nothing came up, and it wasn't because I hadn't eaten. I was trying but all I did was sit in the bathroom tears in my eyes. There were more than photos. I read the whole page, I took in the stories of how they did it and_

_I_

_liked it. I wanted to hear more and I could imagine it, the way they would shake and shiver under my hands and try to scream but I wouldn't let them. They would only whimper and I could take them apart piece by piece watch things die from their eyes I could do it_

_i could really do that and i tried to go to sleep that night and it didn't work my hands kept wandering to my pants i wanted to get off_

_i was turned on because i saw a grainy picture of a dead guy splattered on concrete and a badly written story about stabbing someone to death that happened this is me now_ )

That was the day she stopped leaving the house.

Bro tells her his own story. A boy shuffling between foster homes, running in the wrong crowd. Had a friend once who liked to steal. They stole together once, from a house, even. The house owner came after them with a gun but the friend was good with a bottle, hit him over the head and he came down in a pile of glass. Stabbed him with the remains in his hand, in the face then the stomach. It was a gory wreck and the friend just kept stabbing. ("He may have been high." Bro said, thoughtfully, as pointing out he may have been wearing blue.)

He stood there, watching with wide eyes, until the friend finally ditched the bottle and told him to run. Dirk had a boner.

His foster family at the time was real Christian, and he'd been told since he came all the ways he needed to be moral and good. Getting boners over murder wasn't on there, so he gave a effort to get out of it, to feel guilty. It worked. He stayed in bed for weeks, too full of self loathing to eat or even move. It took the threat of therapy, that dreaded word, to get him out of his room.

Even after he stopped being Christian he hated himself for that night. He dropped out of high school and got a dumb job. He took Dave in and tried to be good. Found fetishes he could distract himself with, made porn to keep his mind off of it. Trained Dave in self defense. He barely thought about it, everything was perfect, he was golden --

\-- until one night someone tried to mug him and he fucking destroyed him, knifed him in the gut and then neck and then chest and then head and kept going, going, covered in blood and guts and --

He came home bloody (the only time, he said, she figured that was when Dave saw him) and took a shower and had the best fucking orgasm of his life. He felt right, he felt powerful, he felt ashamed but that faded in time because _why would he care when this was all so wonderful_

Rose tells him how her mother never loved her, how she wanted her gone so much she gave her to him, a murderer. Bro tells her she's wrong. She didn't know anything about his secret hobby, and she loved her more than anything. She just never spoke Rose's language. It was no one's fault, really.

Rose tells him she's bad at reading faces. She's always been textual and her mother always seemed sarcastic. He shakes his head. She just over-analyzed. It's easy to think no one loves you when you don't love yourself.

Rose tells him he can read him. Bro laughs.

"We're the same, that's why."

Rose asks if that makes it narcissistic, then, that she really really wants him to fuck her - the word feels strange but right on her tongue - right now. He laughs again and licks a bit of the drying blood off her chin and says he'd take her to a safe place to shower and spend the night.

* * *

The afterglow was diminished slightly by the long talk of feelings, but it doesn't stop Bro from coming onto her in the shower. He says she can go in first, that he's used to blood but she's not and its under her sweater, for god's sake, that's got to be sticky and gross. But as soon as she steps into the shower and turns the water on and begins to let her guard down he has her pinned against the wall before she even processes what just happened.

He's already naked and still covered in blood and his knife is to her neck and shit, how didn't she expect a loose cannon like this (like her) to come after her as soon as she turned her back, what was she _thinking?_

"So what is it for you? Now that we got introductions out of the way I'm curious." His voice is dark but almost jovial around the edges of his typical levelness. It's unbalanced. He's unbalanced, they're both unbalanced but he's bigger and armed. "I know you're sixteen, but you could probably still offer some insight on what's hot about it. Do you like the control? The aesthetics? The way they falter and panic and look so fucking _scared_ while you pin them?"

He's got her arm and is twisting it and she whimpers. He nudges a little closer to her. She'd bet her bottom dollar that the pressure against her lower back right now is his dick.

"See, cause I'm wondering if it goes both ways, if you'd like to see the opposite side a little." He says, voice dropping to a whisper. "I wouldn't kill you, don't worry about that. You're my pretty little assistant now, a little apprentice I'm going to teach everything I know. Besides, Roxy is my good friend, and I would never hurt her darling like that. But since we're both here and I don't have to worry about censoring myself and you were obviously enjoying yourself earlier..."

She can't form words, her mouth won't function and she's not sure what to say either way. She's pretty sure that she isn't protesting, per se. She's frightened but she doesn't want to lie and say she never thought of this kind of thing while getting off, she --

He runs the knife gently across her skin and she whimpers again. It's somewhere between scared and needy and Bro laughs.

"You could say no and I'd let you take your shower and I'll take mine and we'll go get a bite to eat. But that _really_ didn't sound like a no."

He's against everything she ever heard about consent.

"See, we're this close already, you saw me kill. I'll be good with you, you'll like it - it's not like I'm unaware of what you like, your choice in pornography search terms has made your little fledgling kinks _painfully_ obvious - I can make you my perfect little apprentice slut, you can leave everything to me..."

He's against everything she ever heard about anything, really. But fuck if that idea doesn't turn her on just as much as the murder did, if her breath doesn't come a little more ragged and she pushes against him a little and

"Yes," is all she can manage. There's a clink of metal on the shower tiles and he's licking at the tiny scrape the knife left on her neck.

"Awesome."

* * *

_Dear Mother,_

_I am writing to tell you about my time with Mr. Strider. I will write this letter with as little subtext as I may manage, and as much truth as is possible. As you may know, such is a terribly difficult for a girl such as me-- or woman, I do suppose. I am growing, now._

_And with this growth, comes this letter I am writing to you, explaining my new life here in the Strider household. (Is that repetitive? I am writing in pen, please forgive me.)_

_I regret to tell you I have permanently left high school. Do not weep - with this official declaration comes the declaration that I have also obtained my GED, in case I might need it in the future. However, I don't believe such will be the case. I am currently being trained by Mr. Strider in the ways of his current career. Whatever you have heard about his job before is incorrect; while I am aware of his Smuppet business, this is not the one in which I am partaking in. Instead, I work to learn the trade of his much less glamorous employment. It's currently more of a hobby, or an art form, and may always be - but for it I am grateful._

_Being here has given me much fulfillment. I have never met a man kinder than Mr. Strider, and his influence is indeed forming me into a great woman. We are similar souls, him and I, and I find comfort in that. I believe you've made a good choice, mother, and I miss you. I will continue missing you until we meet at Christmas, which I assume you are hosting? The Strider household is slightly small for such a gathering._

_Dave sends his regards._

_Love,_  
 _Rose Lalonde_


End file.
